Working for More
by Take this to Heart
Summary: A few weeks after the war, and Ron and Hermione have still failed to get kiss #2. Will they find romance while preforming various chores around The Burrow? Most definitely. Will it come to pass without Harry's awkwardness or Ginny's wit? Never.
1. Chapter 1

**DISSS-CLAIMER: J.K. owns everything!**

**:( **

_a/n: This is the first part of about five installments:) Enjoy! And review!_

**De-Gnoming Us**

"Hermione, dear, would you mind helping the boys de-gnome the garden?"

Would I mind? Of course I'd mind. Any sane person could tell that I would mind 'helping the boys'.

The boys. As in plural; as in two boys.

As in Harry...and Ron.

The awkwardness is unbearable and I want to melt into the ground everytime I'm around him. Both of our cheeks inflame like a Weasley and Weasley firecracker and if Ginny is around, she erupts into snickers. And speaking of Weasley and Weasley, that's another crucial part. Even if I wanted to (which I'm not saying I do) how would I go about unleashing my feelings when a funeral is being planned? Ron could never enjoy my company with mourning over Fred to attend to.

So, would I mind? The answer to that is an irrevocable and firm yes. But in times like these, small lies are what help us stay sane. So I smile and shake my head while a frazzled Mrs. Weasley visibly relaxes for a fraction of a second before catching sight of her ruddy clock. The clock on which Fred's hand now points to 'dead'. Her eyes become vacant and unseeing and to save her from even more pain, I immediately turn to face some myself.

They're outside, sweating away under the hot sun. Almost unthinkingly I summon some lemonade to bring out to them. There are moments when I regret kissing Ron. There are moments when I wish I could have held back just a little bit longer until we were both ready to face it; or at least he was. I've been ready for the past three years. For that reason, there are also times when I can't bring myself to feel remorse over my actions.

As I step out of the backdoor with the cold drinks, Ron and Harry look eagerly up. Harry sighs with relief and runs over to drain his glass in one sip. Ron seems to forget the change between us and his face breaks into a lopsided grin that makes my knees wobble. It's almost immediately replaced by a bewildered look and now he's gone back to snatching gnomes out of his bushes and flinging them into the air. I sigh and Harry delivers Ron a drink, sparing me the humility that's sure to come.

I bend over, easily catching a gnome and sending it spinning through the air. Harry rolls his eyes.

"You don't have to help us, Hermione. We're almost done."

"But I want to--" I begin.

Ron snorts. "I always knew you were insane."

Nobody speaks. Harry seems to be aware of the immense tension blossoming from every direction, threatening to suffocate me. He backs away a few steps, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Ron and I haven't really spoken, haven't had a knock-down, drag-out row it what seems like forever. And now we're both blushing again. I clear my throat, determined to overcome this. I was Hermione Granger and dealing with jealousy and revenge and shattered hearts and close calls for almost half my years at Hogwarts was not going to end in a disaster. I've waited too long and wished too hard to simply give up.

So I give a sort of wavering smile and ask, "Did you now?"

Ron's surprised, I can tell, but he hides it well. He stands up straighter, turning to face me. "Well yeah, I mean it was pretty obvious in school. You were mental."

"So were you," I shoot back, memories of wall-shaking screaming matches threatening to knock me down.

Harry is rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open, swinging from the hinge. He couldn't move if wanted to, which I'm sure he didn't.

"I was mental?" Ron starts laughing and the sound sends butterflies throughout my whole body. "How was I mental?"

"For one, you randomly began going off and snogging cows," I smirk, making a crack at the Lavender Brown Fiasco.

He bit back a smile. "I'm guessing you're excluded from the cow category?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

I freeze on the spot. I can almost hear Harry stop breathing, which I'm sure he has. Ron has never mentioned the kiss before. He lets a smile spread across his face. "Unless you consider yourself one."

I'm spluttering now and Ron's walking toward me, his chores forgotten. Harry is still there, attempting to melt into thin air.

"Th--That's really for y-you to decide, right?" I ask, tripping over every other word.

Ron nods. "You make a good point, Hermione."

"Yes, well, it's been known to happen."

He laughs and I smile up at him; he's right in front of me now.

His eyes are roving over my face, hungrily taking in every detail and I can taste him on my tongue; it's taking every ounce of my practically non-existant self-control to refrain myself from attacking his lips.

Then his faint smile seems to fade and he clears his throat loudly, running a hand through his hair nervously. His ears turn red and he takes a step back. "Er--sorry--"

"No--" I say quickly, feeling my own face heat up. "It's my fault--"

"I'm going to go inside," Harry mutters awkwardly, practically fleeing the scene.

And now we're both alone for the first time in what seems like forever.

Ron's eyes are fixed on the dry ground and mine are fixed on the empty lemonade glass that Harry's left behind. I try to tell myself that I have to hash it out, I have to work it all out, I have to bring up the kiss again or else it will never be forgotten. As much as it pains me, I can tell that that's what he wants. And of course, Ron gets what he wants. From homework to a spot on the Quidditch team to this terribly heart-wrenching deed of self-destruction I'm about to preform, everything's always been to make him happy.

I clear my throat at the same time he does.

He begins to splutter incoherently, gesturing for me to speak first and I clear my throat again, working up all the accumulated Gryffindor courage my body can muster.

"Ronald," I begin, my voice quavering treachorously.

He shuts up at once.

"I would like to apologize...for my mistake."

There. I've said it. He can relax and let out the breath he's been holding and everything can go back to normal. I don't think that anything could make me feel worse than what I'm feeling. And then of course Ron asks, "What mistake?" and his words push me halfway to the edge as I'm forced to explain.

"When I kissed you" --his face instantly pales-- "I was confused. We were in the middle of a war and people were dying and I didn't want to be next and not know for sure that nothing could have happened between us. So...I kissed you...to make sure that I didn't fancy you." My chest is tight; I feel like I can't breathe, and suddenly the heat of the sun beating down is making me a dizzy mess ready to faint from exhaustion.

His face is blank.

"So, you don't fancy me?" he asks. "I thought..."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, too terrified to talk for fear of my voice cracking.

"Don't be sorry," he mumbles, his ears giving away his embarrassment once again. "It's my fault. I was stupid. I thought..."

"Well," I say loudly, looking past his shoulder and focusing on a tree trunk. Reciting all the uses that the magical bark could be used for. Distracting myself. "I know you thought that I cared for you as more than a friend, and I know that that's why you weren't sure how to act around me because you didn't feel the same way, and so I'm setting your mind at ease. Everything can go back to normal now."

"What?"

I roll my eyes, sighing loudly. "Ron--"

"Hermione! Hermione--look at me."

His hands are shaking my shoulders gently and my tired eyes lock on his blue ones. They're filled with something I haven't seen in awhile. Something like when we were trying to escape the Ministry or when Harry was fighting that Horntail or when he was fruitlessly trying to protect Fred's lifeless body or even when he would search for his notes before a particularly hard test. I don't understand why he's looking at me this way.

"Are you--I don't...Hermione...you..."

"Spit it out, Ron," I say exasperatedly, trying to ignore the rush of pleasure I get from his contact.

"Are you saying that the reason you don't like me is because you think that I don't like you?"

"Er...yeah? Well...no, I don't like you no matter what."

It's getting easier to lie.

"Oh..."

His hands fall from my shoulders and he looks so crestfallen that the words tumble out of my mouth before I even register what I'm saying.

"Well I mean--unless you DO like me."

He shakes his head quickly. "No, you don't like me, so I don't like you."

"Wait--are you saying that you'd like me if I liked you?" I asked, my brain whirling confusedly in circles.

"What? You don't like me so it doesn't matter."

We're both blushing again.

"Ronald, do you fancy me?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you fancy me?"

I gulp loudly and throw caution to the winds because in all honesty this is getting kind of ridiculous and don't want to go the rest of my life regretting a bonehead decision I made because I didn't want to get hurt.

"Well, lets say that hypothetically I did, would that mean that you would want to snog me again?"

"Me? Well, you know, hypothetically...yeah, I guess so."

"Right."

"...So..."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's just okay..."

"That we snogged?"

"Er...yeah, I mean, that's okay too..." I'm at a complete loss for words, and Ron doesn't seem to be faring any better.

He swallows loudly, and offers me a crooked smile that seems to say all the things he can't.

And then Ginny runs outside.

"Mum says that you two need to come and eat lunch with Harry...although I'm sure she'd understand if lunch needed to be... postponed. Am I interrupting something?" She sends a wicked grin my way, and I shake my head quickly.

"No!"

Ron is stuttering out a nonsensical answer about summer homework and job applications next to me and I close my eyes against the irrational humility that's overcoming me.

We follow Ginny into the house awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

This is almost worse than before.


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n: Enjoy! This is the second installment:) Take this to heart. _

**Washing out the Worst**

I'm standing frozen, looking down in sadness at the orange shirt at the bottom of the hamper. What am I supposed to do with it?

"Er...mum told me to help you?"

He says it more like a question than a statement as he fidgets uncomfortably in the doorway, and his unexpected voice startles me. I jump away from the basket with a hand over my heart and I glare at him, forgetting for a moment that things are worse than ever between us. His blue eyes widen and he looks down at his shoes.

"I tried to tell her that you probably wouldn't need help...but she--I guess I'll go and tell her again..."

He turns to leave and I quickly call out to him, stopping him in his tracks as I say, "No, don't go!" I cough loudly, cursing my unruly and outspoken emotions before turning back towards the hamper to hide my embarrassment as Ron slowly walks towards me. All too soon he's at my shoulder, peering down into the depths at the small orange lump.

"Is that Fred's?" he asks quietly.

I nod slowly and he sighs, leaning against the edge of the washer. "Wash it," he mumbles. "George has laid claim to all of his things, he'll want that."

I nod again, still averting my eyes from his as I throw the last shirt inside the machine and wave my wand over it.

"I'm done," I murmur, turning away from him to leave the room.

"Hermione," he says, quieter than I was. "Can't you just stay here? Mum is going crazy, she's going to make me re-gnome the garden just to de-gnome it again! She's gone mental. Can't we just relax for a minute...or ten...or even a hundred?"

I agree with a, "Yeah, okay," because why wouldn't Hermione Granger want to spend one hundred minutes with Ron Weasley? In that amount of time we could easily hash things out _and _get in a good snog. I scratch my hair uncomfortably and drag the toe of my sock along the wood floor, tracing small little patterns as he gratefully collapses and closes his eyes.

"Thanks Hermione, you're the best."

I open my mouth and confess softly, "I thought you wouldn't want to be around me..."

"What?" His eyes shoot open and he looks at me strangely. "Why?"

"Well...what we talked about before lunch, just seemed kind of--"

"But I thought it was all hypothetical..." he mumbles.

My heart is going to explode. "Of course it was all hypothetical...I mean, why wouldn't it be?"

He shrugs. "Maybe you didn't think it was hypothetical...?"

"No, of course I do."

"Oh."

Words are flooding out of my mouth and I can't stand the fact that we can't ever seem to be straight with eachother.

"Unless you were just saying that you thought it was hypothetical because you thought that I thought it was hypothetical, in which case I should inform you that I didn't think of it as hypothetical at all..."

He looks at me silently for a few moments. "What?"

"Oh, nevermind," I snap.

Suddenly I'm fed up with him and I'm ready to sod it all and give up on his daftness and his awkwardness and the awful truth that he's never going to make the first move because he's _Ron _and he doesn't make much of anything unless you hand it to him half-finished. "Mrs. Weasley, I'm finished with the laundry," I call out, still sour at him.

"No!" Ron hisses angrily, springing up from his spot on the floor. "What are you doing? Hermione, you said you would wai--"

His sentence is cut off by his mother's entrance. She wipes her hands a few times on her apron and she smiles at me. "Good, good. Ron, you go out and de-gnome the--"

"Mum!" he groans, letting his head fall back exhaustedly to glare at the ceiling. "I already did that!"

Her eyes flash with offence as her mouth forms a thin line. "Ronald Weasley! Things have to be done in this house! If you've already de-gnomed the garden, then go out and make sure there's none left! Then you can trim the hedge! And after that, you can go BACK and double-check the garden because we BOTH know that they always come back!"

He lets out a heavy sigh and shrugs helplessly. "Fine."

"Hermione, you can help Ginny with dinner."

"Of course," I say, avoiding Ron's sullen gaze in my direction. She's already gone out of the room by the time I've finished my sentence, shouting over her shoulder, "Ron, _NOW_!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" he grumbles.

As soon as she's turned the corner, he rounds on me. "What was that for?"

"What was what for?" I ask innocently, tilting my head to one side.

He scowls at me. "Why did you call her in? You said we could relax!"

I roll my eyes. "Maybe things _do _need to get done in this house," I spit. "Maybe things that don't involve your personal comfort! Maybe I want to help with those things!" My shrill voice and his scrunched eyebrows remind me of the time I almost gave him a snout because he called me batty. If I had my wand, he'd already be turned into a full pig by now. "Maybe you should just forget about the hypothetical conversation that wasn't hypothetical in the least!"

"What?" he exclaims. "You are such a _girl_!"

"Congratulations, ickle Ronniekins! It only took you about eight years to notice that!"

He clenches his hands into fists. "I did notice! And make up your mind, Hermione!" he says, growing red in the face. "First you don't want to kiss me, then you do, then you only want to kiss me if I want to kiss you--"

"The kiss has nothing to do with this!" I say loudly, staring at him in rage. "And for the record," I growl, "I stand by what I said the first time."

"Which first time?" he sneers.

"The very first time! I would never want to snog a bloody pig such as yourself!"

He shrugs, brushing past me. "Fine by me. I don't enjoy snogging cows anyways."

The screen door slams shut behind his retreating figure and I feel the sting of tears burning my eyes.

Yes, this was _definitely _worse than before.


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: This was my least favorite chapter to write; I'm sorry to say it has a severe lack of Ron :(. Don't get me wrong, I love Ginny, but I'll probably post the next installment immediately after so those of you who love R/Hr moments can be fulfilled. Oh, and this installment has a tiny little T-Rated moment, I think. But nothing really bad. _

**Cooking Up Advice**

"Ginny, I hate your brother."

She snorts from her spot at the counter. "Great, what's he done this time?"

I huff angrily, pulling at the ends of my hair and slapping away the stray tears. "Everything! He's so stupid and annoying and _lazy _and...he called me a cow, but the wors--"

Ginny gasps spinning around. "He called you a cow?"

"Yes, but the worst part is--"

"And you cried over it?"

"_Yes_, but the worst part is that we can never be friends again. He's gone too far this time," I sniff proudly, coming over to watch Ginny slice onions.

"Oh no," she says, nudging me with her hip lightly. "We don't need you shedding anymore tears. My advice? Forget Ron, he's...probably not the most powerful wand in the shop...never has been really now that I think about it."

I giggle a little bit, and Ginny jerks her head over to the other side of the kitchen. "You can mash potatoes...the muggle way. I hear it's a good way to get out anger."

"I like the way you think, Ginny," I snicker, turning around to find a large bowl of already peeled potatoes just waiting to get annihilated.

"Yeah, well some say I'm a genious. Mostly Harry, when he's trying to get lucky."

I laugh again and slam the masher down on the pile of potatoes, imagining Ron's head. "Have you two...?" I trail off suggestively and Ginny comes to stand next to me, magicking the onions into the simmering stew that's on the stove next to me.

"No," she says, leaning against the counter. "It's Harry. He'd probably think that the newly-fixed fate of the world will come crashing down if he even got excited. Plus he's best friends with Ron, so unless he wants to get killed...you know Ron really is annoying. I don't know what you see in him."

I roll my eyes, crashing the masher into the potatoes again. "I don't see anything in him _anymore_."

A small part of me disagrees with that statement, somewhere deep inside me. I try to ignore it, I try to tell myself that I really _am_ done with Ron this time. The indecision must show on my face, because as I bring the masher down on the potatoes again, she scoffs and pats my shoulder. "Right. And that's why you got so hurt when he called you a cow. I can assure you he didn't mean it."

I shake my head, punctuating each word with a fierce mash. "I--don't--care!"

"Yes you do," she sang.

"Ginny..."

"Well you do! And so does he! And you'd better not waste anymore time denying it or Harry will suddenly go off on a hunt to try and kill the ghost of Grindelwald and you two will be dragged along--I'll be dragging along too, in case you were wondering. I fully intend to accompany you three on anymore adventures."

"There won't be anymore," I say tiredly, pushing the bowl away from me. I let the masher fall onto the counter as I fully face Ginny, letting a long sigh fall out of my mouth. She's right. How could she not be? I'm doing no one any good by pretending otherwise. "By the way, I _was _through denying it, this morning when you interrupted."

Her face changes from smug to horrified and she slaps a hand to her forehead. "Are you kidding? Please tell me you're kidding."

I shake my head and tuck an unruly curl behind my ear. "It was kind of in the form of a hypothetical conversation, but I practically told him I wanted him to kiss me again."

She lowers her hand and sighs loudly. "You can't have a hypothetical conversation with Ron without him thinking it _is_ hypothetical. You might as well have not even told him!"

I feel like I've been kicked when I'm already down. "But..."

"No buts. I know my brother, and until he's absolutely sure that you, Hermione Granger, his best friend of seven years, like him as much as he fancies you, he will not do anything. Trust me on this. You have to apologize to him and tell him how you feel!"

"Ginny, I can't," I mutter, crossing the small kitchen and sinking into a chair.

"Yes you can. I know you, and you're not a quitter."

I sigh, letting my head fall dejectedly into my hands. "I'll think about it."

I hope Ginny can't tell that 'I'll think about it' actually means, 'never in a million years'.

"Promise me, Hermione. The next time you're alone together, you'll tell him."

I don't answer, too plagued with fear about his possible (and probable) rejection.

"At least apologize," she begs, biting her bottom lip.

"Fine," I concede. "I'll apologize."

"Yes!" her fist shoots into the air and she waves her wand to stir the stew lazily. "Now tell me I was right about you still fancying him."

I don't answer her, merely swallow and try to remain calm.

There's a certain type of line that is drawn between two people when they first meet. It's either a dotted line, that begs you both to cross it and become something more than the title of 'just friends', or it's a solid line; one that firmly refuses to waver and is essentially a wall. Over the years the solid line that had separated Ron and I, had slowly become lazy and half-broken. There was a part, a small part, but still a part, where we could simply jump over the blasted line if we wanted to.

And believe me, I wanted to.

I just had to find the right time to do it.


	4. Chapter 4

_a/n: The torture is almost over, I promise! _

**Dusting Away the Past**

I clear my throat for the third time, trying to make it work.

"Did the dust get in your throat or are you just trying to annoy me?"

I graon, spinning around to glare at him indignantly. "I was just going to say that dinner was very awkward last night. I apologize, it was my fault, I overreacted, blah, blah, blah, the usual. GAH, I'm so close to hexing you!"

He shrugs. "That's nothing new." His duster glides over the unused tools of Mr. Weasley's shed and he sighs loudly. "And what about that 'blah blah blah'? Is that supposed to make me--"

"Ron!" I say exasperatedly, my face contorting in anger.

We glare at eachother.

"It would have been a much better apology if you could have just held your tongue."

He sighs heavily again and turns away; I snort obnoxiously, grimacing at the back of his head.

"Did you do that just to annoy me?" I ask, mocking him.

He crosses his arms and turns to face me. "I was just going to accept your apology."

I stop in the act of spewing more irate words and look down. "Oh."

It's silent and the early morning caw of birds can be heard in the distance. I fidget slightly and Ron rubs a hand on his neck. The silence stretches on and I don't exactly know what to say. Suddenly, the shed door bangs open loudly. Harry comes bursting in and we both jump and brandish our dusters like wands. He looks at us with wide eyes.

"Uh..."

I look back at Ron and he's staring at me sheepishly, the very tips of his ears a maroon color.

Harry turns around and shuts the door hurriedly, leaving Ron and I alone again. All is quiet.

"Well, that was weird," he says finally.

I nod. "You can say that again."

"That was weird." I let a small smile cross my lips and just like that, the old conversation is dropped and both of us act as if we never fought. The left side of his mouth is slightly upturned in an echo of his usual goofy grin and I sigh, looking around the shop.

Suddenly he groans loudly, throwing his duster down. "Why do we have to do this? Mum could do it in a flash and it's not like this old shed even needs to be dusted, no one comes in here anyways!"

I shrug. "She...probably just wants to keep us busy."

"No, she wants to keep _herself_ busy by making sure _we're_ busy. She can't get over Fred."

"Surely you're not over him?" I ask, moving slowly closer to him.

This could be the moment. This could be the time when I find the opening to tell him how I feel, when we're standing all alone in the middle of a dusty shed.

"'Course I still feel bad and wish he was here, I haven't forgotten him, you know, but I've accepted that I won't ever see him again. She still acts like he's going to come home any second and the house has to be spotless for him."

I wince at the bitterness in his voice. "No parent should outlive their child, Ron. It's awful."

"Right," he says, sitting down heavily on the cement floor. I join him and after a tense moment he sighs. "Sometimes I feel like it's my fault."

I freeze, his uncalled for confession taking me by surprise. "Ron!"

Maybe now isn't the moment.

"I do. If I wasn't so distracted by Percy and...stuff, I might've been able to see it coming."

Something clicked inside my head. "Is _that_ why you don't want to--" I cut myself off, not wanting to say too much, not wanting to ruin this surreal moment with Ron. Sure it's possible that he didn't want to snog me again because he feels that it was halfway responsible for killing Fred, but there was also the chance he just didn't find me attractive.

Too bad I've said too much. His face turns towards me and that look on his face tells me he's too interested in what I was going to say that he won't easily let go of this one. "It's why I don't want to what?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Hermione," he says, his bottom lip jutting out farther than normal. "What?"

"Nothing," I say, studying the gray color of the floor.

"Tell me."

After a moment of deliberation (which was really only Ginny's voice in my head giving me a pep talk) I sighed. "Only if you tell me what you were distracted with."

He blushes and becomes visibly uncomfortable. "I already told you...I was distracted with Percy..."

"And stuff," I remind him. "What is stuff?"

He sighs, studying my face carefully. Finally he murmurs, "It's personal."

I nod, trying not to pay attention to the sinking feeling I've gotten too used to experiencing. "Of course." I say stiffly. "I understand."

"Let's just forget about it. Okay?"

A lump forms in my throat. "Of course," I say shakily. "It never happened."

He scratches his nose and I stand up. "I'll be going back inside now. I think I smell breakfast cooking."

"How could you smell it from all the way out here?" he asks, squinting at me. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I say shortly. Tears are burning my eyes yet again. I _know _that the extra stuff is me, I _know_ he feels guilty about thinking about the kiss because he thinks that it helped kill his brother, I _know _he doesn't really have any reason to tell me...even if it does feel vital to my happiness. Not that he knew it was so important, considering I hadn't told him. And it doesn't even really matter anymore considering he wants to forget the ruddy thing. Now we were pretending the snog didn't even happen! At this rate, we'd never get anywhere.

I flee the shed, leaving a confused Ron sitting on the floor and feeling like I failed both Ginny and myself.

I guess somethings just aren't meant to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

_a/n: This story has gotten the most reviews in the shortest amount of time ever!! I'm so glad everybody likes it so much! :) Here's to all those years that led up to this installment! Enjoy, you guys:). _

**Making Up the Future**

I inhale sharply. "Ron?"

Of course he had to be here.

He drops the blanket he was attempting the fold and flushes. "Did mum send you up to make the beds also?"

"Yeah...I guess she forgot you were already doing it. I can go tell her--"

"Hermione, s'okay. Just stay here. I'm pretty much finished."

I swallow, unsure of what to do; the sting of his words in the shed still weighing on my mind. "Yeah, okay."

I sit gingerly on the edge of a made bed and Ron gives up on the blanket he's still trying to fold. Within seconds he's sitting next to me, clearing his throat awkwardly.

We say, "So," simultaneously.

I clamp my mouth shut and gesture for him to speak first before I get myself into any other hypothetical conversations that I'll regret a day later. He seems flustered now too, the apples of his cheeks a dull red. He clears his throat loudly, and turns towards me slightly.

"I just wanted to, er...clear up a few things."

My heart sinks. This doesn't sound good at all and frankly, I'm bloody terrified of his next sentence.

"This morning in the she--"

"Stop," I choke out.

He looks bewildered, and the left half of his hair sticks up as he runs his fingers nervously through it. "Er--what?"

I shake my head. "Ron--"

"Hermione, just let me finish what I'm saying?"

I take a deep breath, fully intending to reject his wishes; not wanting to hear about the kiss-that-never-should-have-been. I figure that we should both (mainly me) spare our feelings the hurt that will surely come if Ron keeps talking. Then the door swings open.

A familiar bespectacled boy stops in his tracks, moaning, "Oh God, not again..."

I clear my throat awkwardly. "It's fine, you can come in, Harry."

I hear a Ginny-snort from the hallway and sure enough she emerges in the doorway, peering over Harry's shoulders.

"This is disappointing," she sighs. "I fully expected the beds to be unmade by now."

Ron and I both blush a deep crimson, and Harry gives a strangled, mumbled response before towing Ginny out of the room. Before the door has even so much as slammed shut, Ron has blurted out, "It was you."

My heart seems to still, the blood slowing in my veins as I try to process what he's said.

"It was you," he repeats, trying to straighten out his wrinkly Chudley Cannons T-shirt. "You're the 'stuff' that I was distracted with when...you know. I know you got mad because I didn't tell you, so--"

"Ron..."

"I don't want you to be mad at me...I want you to--"

"Ron."

"What?" he asks exasperatedly.

I sigh. If he's being honest now, even if he has no need to be, I suppose I should as well. Best friends...or whatever the hell we were now, don't lie to eachother.

"I wasn't mad because of that, I was just...slightly perturbed because of...well..."

He doesn't answer.

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. "It was the kiss."

His hand automatically flies to his hair.

I close my eyes. "I know you didn't want to kiss me because you felt guilty, alright? It all makes sense. Can we please drop this now?"

Ron's looking at me, half angered, half confused. "That's not true!"

I chew on my lower lip, feeling sufficiently embarrassed. "Of course it is."

"No, Hermione. It's not. Yeah, I wish I could've stopped thinking about you for at least a minute during the whole battle, but I didn't okay? That's over and done with."

I can't breathe properly.

He seems to realize the weight of his confession and stands up. "I think I'll go tell Mum I've finished." His bold voice he used a moment ago has shrunk and shriveled into a mumble and I twist my fingers together, wondering what to do or what to say.

He's crossing the room, he's by the door, his hand is turning the knob, and now he's pausing.

That little pause is the only push my brain needs. My voice springs to life, shaky and small; it cuts through the air like a knife.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

His hand falls off the handle of the wooden door and he merely stands there, his face still turned the other way. When he finally speaks again, I have to strain my ears to hear him.

"This whole thing is more confusing than one of Snape's essays. What do you want me to do, Hermione?"

I stand up and cross the floor to him, my heart hammering in my chest. "I want you to...tell me what you want?" It comes out much less firm than I intended it to, ending with a questionable air surrounding it.

He rolls his eyes, and turns to face me, heaving out a long breath.

"Oh bloody hell, I might as well just say it, right?"

I nod jerkily, fear spreading through my veins.

"I want this."

"This?" I say uncertainly.

"I want to be able to not have to worry about Viktor Krum as my competition," he breathes, stepping an inch closer to me.

I feel my eyes fill with irrational tears.

"Now tell me what you want," he insists again.

He looks much more flustered than he sounds. His eyes are wide and sparkling with anxiety, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his face seems to be permanently pink.

I take a steadying breath that only proves to derail me more. "I want to know that...Lavender Brown will never be spoken of again."

"Done," he said lowly, his blue eyes boring into my own.

A smile flickers across his face and the spark it throws off ignites the air around us. I let out a shaky breath as he speaks.

"I want to sit next to you at the dinner table."

"Okay..." I said, allowing a tense giggle to escape my lips. "I want to...I want to talk to you without Harry or Ginny or anybody around."

"I want to be able to hold your hand."

He's completely serious, and I feel my cheeks heat up as I nod quickly.

"You can," I whisper.

His hands find mine. They're shaking, they're sweating, and yet my hands have never felt so perfect in someone else's grip as they do right now. It's never felt more right as it does in this moment.

"I want to help you with your chores," I say, biting my cheek.

He snorts nervously; we're both pretending that our hands aren't linked as the air gets thicker around us. I can't believe this is happening. "That won't be a problem. I want to be able to...be like we were on the Horcrux Hunt while we were alone in Grimmauld Place and Harry was gone and Kreacher made us those delicious cupcakes...only more."

We've gravitated even closer together, his face is inches away from my own.

"I want..."

I can't think of anything I want besides a kiss.

I think he knows this.

He draws in a jagged breath and studies me intently.

Time passes slowly; his lips are slightly parted.

My whole stomach feels like it's floating away.

"Er...Her--Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

Our voices are taut, strung with tension and pressure. He raises his eyebrows, asking some kind of question that I'm not even attempting to try and understand. I just smile, because that's all I seem to be able to do right now.

He laughs apprehensively.

And then, as if someone cut our restraints at the same time, we ltake a miniscule step towards one another.

Then another.

Then we spring.

We lunge at eachother, our lips meeting in a frenzy of suppressed emotion and plain desire. My mind begins to swirl dangerously and I give as much as I can into the kiss, knowing that Harry will probably walk in any moment.

"Bloody hell," he murmurs as he pulls his head slightly away to look at me. "I want..." --he pauses to kiss me fiercely again-- "to be able to do this...all the time."

I nod into another of his breath-taking kisses, agreeing ferverently with a muffled, "Me too."

He pulls away again, breathing heavily, his sweaty hands still clasping mine tightly. "Why can't we?"

I shrug uncomfortably. "I...dunno."

We're looking at eachother, both completely shocked and ill-eat-ease with what just happened. What's the next step? How would normal people proceed?

"Do you want...to...you know...try being together?"

He flushes, deeper than he already is and I grin, uncontrollable happiness breaking free. "Er...yeah. Yeah, try it out...in case it doesn't work."

"Right, right."

His hand tightens on mine and slowly he intertwines our fingers. "So...you and me?"

I nod. "Yes, Ron. You and me."

He leans in quickly for a swift peck on my cheek, pulling away with an embarrassed look on his face. "I'm glad," he murmurs.

"Me too," I say softly, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

With a long breath out he grins lopsidedly at me, tilting his head to one side. "Are you hungry? Because I'm starved...I think I smell lunch cooking."

I snicker softly, tugging on his hand. "I guess we should go eat."

"Yeah...hey, Hermione? Could we not tell my mum?"

"Ron!"

"I know, I know, I just want to eat my sandwich in peace..."

And with that, we step over the line and down the stairs, happier than we've been in a while.


End file.
